


Replaced

by trickstersGambit



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Sadstuck, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickstersGambit/pseuds/trickstersGambit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it is assumed, a story has to be told, or the words will fall into the cracks, forgotten by all but those who were there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The story as it begins

In the twentieth century the planet Earth was hit by several fairly unusual rocks. The inhabitants would never know that eight had been sent out. Nor would they realize two fell another four hundred years passed, leaving the plane just one short. They would certainly never know that the meteors that fell carried infants of unusual circumstance. These strange occurrances were never recorded in any news paper anyone ever cared to read beyond those that were purchased at check-stands for an occasional laugh.

They weren't even aware their planet had changed locations, narrowly avoiding an apocalypse and entering into a universe as pawns in a game they had no part in. 

Or their own impending end at the hands of an alien empress and her overlord.

There was plenty they weren't concerned about.

The rise of a baking conglomerate that seemed to become more than baked goods and sweets; that took the world into it's hold with a red spoon and a kindly woman's face.

The unusually long youth of one 'Johnny Crocker'.

The disappearance of his premier scientist and renowned explorer sister.

The eerie writing that seemed to predict the course of modern times that flowed from the fountain pen of a woman with violet eyes as strange and all seeing as the words she wrote.

Not even the sudden appearance of a man who's movies and financial practices toed insanity in the most dangerous of fashions.

Earth was blissfully unaware of the strange occurrances that seemed to crop up from time to time, and the people who lived there seemed perfectly happy with the way things were.

But sometimes, it is assumed, the story must be told, or the words will fall into the cracks, forgotten by all but those who were there..

This, friends, is that story.


	2. A pile of questions and not an answer to be seen.

Dave Strider was disoriented. Head spinning with too much and too little information all at once. 

The last thing he remembered was standing on the meteor, arguing with Karkat regarding sensitivity while his sister and her girlfriend...were they girlfriends? Did it matter anymore?... argued over her drunken state. 

He'd been worried, of course, but the growling had caught his attention in a much more intense fashion than anything else, and he found himself staring up at the girl who'd been his friend for a long time. She was different. Her skin was dark in an unnatural way, black as the space behind her, or the dress she wore. It'd been dark before, of course, but Jade had spent a lot of time in the sun. That was to be expected--her dorky brother was a kind of pale that made him squint and wonder how they could be related; They were a mix of pacific island and something he couldn't quite touch his finger to that made them exotic in ways that made a guy want to pick apart their features until he'd figured out where they came from. 

That wasn't important anymore. 

What was important was the anger on her face, the aggressive posture that made a guy wonder what was going on in her head. Was she angry with him? Dave hadn't spoken in three years but that could hardly be his fault. Did feathery-Dave do something to her? To John? Shit. Why didn't he keep better tabs on everyone? Why hadn't he managed to send a version of himself through to maintain order in the freaky chaos their lives had become? 

Why couldn't he have nice things? 

And why was he suddenly on a street in the middle of an alley in downtown Houston? 

His head spun as he tried to wrap it around the occasion, shoving himself up from the ground with a panicked look around. Where were his friends? Were they okay? Why were they separated? What the HELL was going on? 

Somewhere above his head was a spirograph. It was something of a given but he could see it when he squinted hard enough. Okay. So somehow he was still in game? And on Earth. 

Three years ago that would have been hard to swallow; now? Not so much. 

Now he was a god. He could wind time and make it a play thing. Now it was at the tips of his fingers and nothing anyone did made him weak. Now no one had to die because he didn't have the power to save them. 

Now he was in his hometown, on the home planet, with powers that would allow him to do whatever the hell you wanted. 

As he slipped onto the city sidewalk, joining a crowd from what appeared to be a local convention, from their bright garb and outlandish styles--he could dig it, his brother was in to that kind of thing, it was just... normal for him--he eyed the area. 

So the alpha universe wasn't so different from home; He didn't like the obvious Crockerganda that was plastered on the billboards, decked out the sides of buildings or filled otherwise vacant lots, but he didn't know exactly what was going on here anyway. It could all be innocent. Nothing to see here, move along Strider--Who was he kidding? There was something sinister about that red fork--Wasn't that supposed to be a spoon? 

He'd sort of zoned out when Rose started going on about 'what to expect in the new session'. She could drone on and on, and on. 

Of course she could. They were related. He shouldn't be surprised. His brother had the same ability when 

When he was alive. 

The dead don't talk. That's a thing he had to remind yourself. 

The more he walked the more it occurred to him; He couldn't go back yet. It's too much. There's just too much to it, too much unknown. Too much he had ignored. Shoes beat the pavement and you consider the situation. He was ignorant, but a god, possibly capable of learning more than any man needs to know. He had the power to seduce time, throw it on the bed and make sweet love to it while it whispers it's secrets into his ear like they're the sweetest nothings a partner could ever mutter. 

So why didn't he? 

Dave paused in a crowd of costumed people, watching them for a moment before he stepped into the convention center, taking a deep breath. 

If he was going to do it, he might as well make a scene, right? After all 

The Witch already knew he was there. 

Breath rocketed out of him as he cleared his throat, calling attention to himself as he straighten out the hood overhead. 

A number of cosplayers shoot their attention to him, and he wondered, for a moment, if this was a thing Bro would have been into if they'd lead normal lives. 

"Watch an be amazed 'cause i'm about to throw down the sickest shit you've ever put your eyes on. From this moment on everything you know's gonna pale in comparison. You're gonna wish you knew who I was when I'm gone an ya ain't gonna know jack shit about me c'ept this one simple phrase." He could hardly believe the crap spewing out of his mouth, but Dave had shot off worse to John over pesterchum when neither were really paying attention. "I'm Dave Strider, and welcome to the Game." 

He had a strong desire for a smoke bomb or something, but with the crowd gathered what was about to come was still bound to be at least a little impressive. 

The Knight of Time let hands shoot out in front of him, red clocks and cogs appearing in the air plain as day, intangible and glaringly out of place in the world around you. Fitting he should choose a convention as your venue. This sort of weird display was just what the crowd seemed to salivate over. 

They whispered about next gen gear and 'who's he cosplaying?', but he ignored it, visualizing the clocks winding backward. A full rotation spun, driven by the gears he'd created, and Dave watched as the world, and even the convention hall winked out of existence. 

Decades swept backward, the only indication, his internal clock. 2010's, 00's, 1990's, 1980's. How far back did he have to go? He struggled to think back to stories he'd heard from precious friends about their grandparents youths. The alpha session can't be too different, can it? 

He didn't think so. 

60's, 50's, 40's. Closer. He just wanted a peek. A glance at his friend in his alien childhood. 

He wasn't even DAVE'S John, here. Not the John who's rosy cheeks were the subject of his dreams, and the breakup with his alien girlfriend... 

But he was still John. 

And Dave was still curious. 

And dressed like a freak. 

As the nineteen tens swam around him as he stopped the backward progression. It became his mission to find out what other people are wearing and set himself up with it. That, and getting to wherever the first meteor fell. He imagined it couldn't be hard to find. 

A hunt for a clothes line ensued. Tall grass that brushed his chest and held up his movements became the bane of his existence, but clothes weren't overly hard to find; He watched from behind a building as a woman hangs, abandoning some poor man's clothing on a line. Her wash became a victim of the nearly patented Strider Flashstep. 

The line sang tellingly as the clothes pulled free, feet impacting against the spring ground as Dave took off for cover, not wanting to be caught by their owner and have to explain himself. He'd pay them back for this later, if he remembered correctly... He'd probably wind up paying their grand children but whatever a debt paid was a debt paid. A few moments later he pulled the fabric over bare skin. It itched in ways he didn't think fabric could, accustomed to God Tier pajamas and the soft expensive fabrics Bro had spoiled him with all those years growing up. 

He hated it already. Blending in is a ridiculous thing, but he had to if he want to get by here. 

Fabric chafed his thighs as he stepped out onto the road, red eyes shaded behind pale lashes, glasses tucked away. He didn't think Aviators existed in the 1910's. He certainly didn't think he wanted them stolen. John had gone through all the trouble of hooking him up with them, and he'd gotten... really attached to the damned things over the last three years. 

His time in the sun brought the feeling of a sunburn to his pigment-less skin. made him wish he'd found a hat to swipe. Made him wish a lot of things. His skin was crawling from the actual sun's heat. Pinking and carrying early effects of too much exposure on the back of his neck and across his cheeks. 

He found relief from the beast that was the yellow sky disk in a bar that turned up no leads. No one even whispered about unusual events, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. The situation repeated the second, third and fourth days. No matter where Dave went, no county or state turned up anything interesting. Maybe it's a southern thing? 

He couldn't say for sure. 

He traveled in the god tier pajamas; They weren't not pilling like the trousers he'd stolen, not threatening to either light on fire or rip apart with each speedy change of location. 

Dave could feel his feet ache he couldn't ever traveled so much in his whole life, not even sparring with his Bro had been this brutal; but he kept going, determined to find out more than Rose already knew; He was going to go back to the session with more information than that woman. Being there only made him more determined not to fall behind her. That sight of hers has to be a form of cheating. 

Or something. 

It wasn't long before Dave found himself traveling through Louisiana, Mississippi, Florida, up through Georgia, and it was there he got something of a lead. A Kentucky Colonel, who's land... Struck oil or something. No one seemed to have a straight answer on that, but SOMETHING unusual happened on land belonging to some guy named Sassacre. 

It sets off all kinds of bells, whistles and sirens in Strider's head. 

John had a ridiculously big book written by someone of that name. Dave could remember stretching out the chatbox to allow for his friend's emphatic fanboying on the subject of this Sassacre guy. He talked about the guy with such admiration that someone would think he knew him or something. He didn't, obviously. If he was a colonel in 1910, he was definitely gone by the 2000's. There was no way his friend could ACTUALLY know the person. But it doesn't stop him from being excited in the most uncool of ways. 

It was a lead. The first one Dave gotten in a while. He was going to find out what this timeline's deal was, and he was going to start with Egbert... 

Well. 

John. 

Not so much Egbert.


End file.
